Tamed Spirit

by Alison Tyler

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "How does it feel?" Joanie Weston asked, stepping back after adjusting the metal harness.

  "Terrific. I feel like a horse being taken off to the glue factory." Cat smirked, slipping on the tweed suit jacket.

  Carl strode over with Tim Ryan, the head of special effects. "Okay, Cat. This one is simple enough. Take five steps toward the car, left hand poised to open the front door, then bang. Just remember, when the shot comes and that contraption you're wired to jerks you slightly backward, you clutch the door handle, then slowly let your hand slide down the side of the car to the pavement." He turned to Ryan. "Don't give her too violent a tug or she wont be able to reach that handle."

  Ryan nodded to Carl and then came up closer to Cat, slipping his hand under her jacket.

  "Fresh." She grinned.

  "Wouldn't I love to be," he teased back, making sure the rubber sacs of "blood" were securely taped over the tiny, flat pieces of metal squibs containing explosive and secured to the metal plate of Cat's vest. When the gunshot went off, Ryan would electrically detonate the squibs to duplicate the impact of a real bullet. He would also pull the wire on the spring-operated harness around Cats waist to yank the wounded woman backward, effectively creating the realistic movement of being hit. It was one of the more routine stunts, but nevertheless, it had to be carefully checked out so that everything was perfectly synchronized.

  "We're all set," Ryan called over to Carl.

  "Never let it be said I wouldn't die for you, Tim," Cat whispered before he returned to his switches and wires.

  Everything went like clockwork, and Cat was relieved they wouldn't have to do another take. It was close to four o'clock and she wanted to stop at Dina's, a small boutique on Union Street she'd passed when she'd gone to lunch that afternoon. There was a gorgeous, slinky red taffeta dress in the window, shimmering and done up with a wild combination of ruffles and ribbons. It was totally outrageous, and Cat found it irresistibly sinful—the perfect getup to greet Luke's arrival tonight.

  She bought the dress without blinking an eye at the price tag. Wild outfits were one of her occasional weaknesses. She adored costumes—from cow-girl togs to tiaras—and she had the panache to carry off whatever look she was in the mood for.

  She stopped at the desk in the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel.

  "Any messages for me?"

  The clerk, a gaunt young man who was still suffering from an extended case of acne, slipped a folded paper out of her mail slot. He eyed her appreciatively as he handed her the note.

  She read it and then looked back up at the clerk. "No other messages—or calls?"

  He double-checked her box and shook his head.

  Cat shrugged. Luke might have some late-afternoon patients or be working on his book. She smiled, remembering the flush of embarrassment on his face when he'd told her he was writing about sexual fulfillment. As she rode up in the elevator to the seventh floor, she found herself wondering about the extent of Luke Eliot's personal research for that book. Was Dr. Teri Caulfield one of his willing subjects? She shifted the shopping bag from Dina's to her other hand. Why did she buy the dress, anyway? "Just what are your intentions toward this doctor, Miss Roy?" she whispered out loud in the empty elevator. She couldn't come up with an answer. All she knew was that Luke Eliot triggered responses and fantasies in her that she could not ignore.

  There was more than a physical attraction here, although that certainly was a prominent feature. But there was something else. She had felt it right from the start—a special communication. Simpatico.

  That was it. With all the differences she could list between them, there was an invisible thread that seemed to connect them.

  Her hand trembled slightly as she unlocked the door to her room. She chided herself for getting too carried away with fantasies. This wasn't a movie. There wasn't going to be any pat Hollywood finale. In real life, endings could be tough to take. It was rare for Cat to shy away from danger, but she began to wonder if this was one time the risks would be too great. She had a gut feeling that Luke Eliot was going to disrupt her life more than anyone else ever had.

  The phone rang. She immediately forgot her reservations as she ran to answer it.

  "Oh, Ben."

  "Don't sound so excited."

  Neither of them tried to mask the disappointment in their voices.

  "I just got in," Cat said.

  "How did things go after I left?"

  "Routine. I only had to get shot at once."

  Ben laughed. "It isn't fair. Carl decided, after the twenty-fifth brawl with Owen, that he wants to rework the whole fight. Thank God tomorrow's Sunday and I get a day to recuperate before learning the new choreography."

  "About tonight, Ben…"

  "Don't turn me down, Cat. A guy can handle just so much rejection. Besides, haven't I gotten knocked down enough for one day?"

  "You're a pro. You know how to move with the punches."

  "That one went right to the solar plexus, babe." Ben sighed. "When are you going to discover that the two of us are made for each other?"

  Cat glanced over at the red taffeta dress she had extracted from the shopping bag and spread over her bed. Ben was giving her the perfect place to wear it—a party one of his friends was throwing over at Frauley's, a swank new dinner club in the Embarcadero.

  If Luke didn't show up she might not get to wear that dress for a while. Shed have to take the risk.

  Ben managed to handle the rejection gracefully enough. Cat didn't doubt that he would try again. She wondered how Luke would interpret her lack of interest in Ben Seaton. Ben was as virile and attractive as the handsome stars he stunted for; he seemed to be crazy about Cat, warmly attentive and sensual. They shared the same profession, some of the same interests. Yet there had never been any sparks. Then Cat remembered Luke emphasizing that he only analyzed patients.

  When an hour went by and there was still no word from Luke, Cat began to get tense. She covered her disappointment with irritation. Why had he asked her where she was staying, anyway? Luke hadn't impressed her as the kind of man who played games, but maybe she had misread him.

  She should never have stopped in that health-food store. She should never have started her crazy flirtation up on that ledge. She should chalk up the whole experience as a funny episode to tell her grandchildren one day. Most of all, she should stop staring at her bedside phone willing it to ring again.

  Cat never could tolerate waiting for things to happen. She switched on the radio, found a noisy rock station, and began doing some rigorous aerobics. Then, having worked up a good sweat, she took a shower. When she walked back into the bedroom, she hesitated before walking over to the telephone again.

  He might have phoned while she was in the bathroom. She dialed the clerk. No calls. The white terry-cloth towel fell to the carpet as she slipped on her robe. She walked over to the bed and sat down, carelessly shoving the red dress aside. She leaned back against the pillows, letting her long legs slide over the red taffeta. Rational thoughts about this being all for the best mingled with her disturbingly sensual fantasies.

  Her irritation won out over her good sense. Reaching for the phone directory on the shelf of the end table, she turned to the Es. Luke's home number wasn't listed. It made sense that he would not want patients indiscriminately calling him at his house. She dialed the listed office exchange.

  "Dr. Luke Eliot's office." The voice was nasal and feminine.

  "Is this Dr. Eliot's secretary?"

  "Answering service. Dr. Eliot isn't in his office on Saturday evenings."

  Cat didn't like the woman's deprecating tone. "I assumed that," Cat said with an equally snide retort. "I'm a friend of his. I misplaced his home phone number."

  "We don't give out the doctor's home number. If you leave your name and where you can be reached, I'll give Dr. Eliot the message when he calls in."

  "Never mind." Cat hung up the phone. She glanced at her wristwatch. It probabl
y wasn't too late to get hold of Ben and tell him she had changed her mind. She deliberated for a few minutes, happy afterward that she had delayed.

  The phone rang as she was about to pick up the receiver to call Ben.

  Luke's conversation with Max hadn't resolved matters. All it did was confirm that Cat could cause Luke to make a fool out of himself, even when she wasn't around. Now Max could join the fast-accumulating league of people who would see him that way. Luke knew he was being overly hard on himself; Max Hart wasn't the kind of person who would relegate Luke to jester status merely on the basis of a benign fascination with a beautiful woman.

  Luke tried to comfort himself with the thought that once this whole movie crew vanished from town, he could pretend the experience hadn't happened. That's not the best advice, he admonished himself. Wasn't he always telling patients to face their feelings and work them through? Usually he practiced what he preached. Cat Roy had managed to create an emotional chaos within him that had been running rampant for the past twenty-four hours.

  He looked out his kitchen window, wondering when Cat's image would stop reappearing on that ledge across the street. He laughed aloud, replaying the whole scene in his mind. Then his thoughts moved to today's meeting at lunch. Was it his imagination that her eyes shone with anticipation when she'd told him the name of her hotel? What interest could she have in him? Cat was probably intimately involved with that suavely handsome older man that she kept wrapping her arms around. Luke told himself again that this infatuation with a woman he really knew absolutely nothing about was ridiculous.

  It wasn't altogether true. He knew some things— the sultry sound of her laughter, the way her eyes kept changing color, her natural wit and feisty independence, the quality of vulnerability that surfaced despite her efforts to conceal it. That combination of spirit and fragility coupled with her exotic beauty was the cause of Luke's inability to put Cat Roy out of his mind. Maybe she was a little kooky, as Teri had said, but to Luke, that was part of Cat's appeal.

  He walked back into the living room, stalked over to his desk, and picked up a psychiatric journal. No matter how enticing Cat was, there was no way he could imagine a viable relationship with her. It was no more plausible than his teenage fantasies about Sophia Loren divorcing Carlo Ponti and living in sin with him.

  Even at seventeen Luke had strong ideas about staying single. Not necessarily as a lifelong goal but certainly until he was well established and secure in his professional identity. Luke had had to struggle to get through college and medical school, working all kinds of odd jobs fit in at odd hours to cover the high cost of education. His father had died when Luke was a child, and his mother was busy supporting three younger children and couldn't possibly swing the tuition. It had taken him three extra years to get through college going part-time, then he had to get his medical degree and begin his professional pursuits. Two months ago he had made the final installment payment on his last school loan. Writing out that last check to Union Bank and Trust had felt like a major milestone, and it marked an important turning point.

  He stretched out on the couch, propping one leg up to support the journal. When he finished the book he was writing, it would mark yet another turning point for him; one which hopefully would put him at the top level of his profession. The fantasy of success, one that was far less threatening than those about Cat, helped get him through the article by Mandell about communication as a sexual enhancer.

  When he finished the article, he moved to his desk, reread it, this time taking careful, detailed notes on file cards. Checking his watch, he realized it was time to call in to his answering service for messages. Weekends were a popular time for emotional crises, and Luke made a point of calling in almost every hour. When there was a real emergency, the service would dial into his beeper, but Luke had gotten in the habit of double-checking on the chance something came through that he should follow up on.

  "Nothing, Doctor." The same nasal voice Cat had heard answered him, this time tinged with respect. "Oh, wait a minute. Someone did call but didn't leave any message. Or any name."

  "Oh. Male or female?"

  "A woman. Actually, she said she was a friend of yours. She asked for your home number, Doctor, but of course I explained that was impossible. I offered to—"

  "Thanks, Doris," he cut her off abruptly. "That was fine. Just fine. I'll call in next hour." He hesitated. "On second thought, I'm going out tonight. Why don't I call back later this evening. I'll have my beeper so you can call through in an emergency. Only emergencies, though. Okay, Doris?"

  "Certainly, Dr. Eliot. Even physicians deserve a night off."

  "You're right, Doris. And that's exactly what I plan to do—take the night off."

  He ran a comb through his hair, changed out of his jersey-knit rugby shirt into a crisply laundered, blue buttondown shirt, threw on a navy blazer, and started for the door. He came to a stop, tapped his forehead, and rushed into the kitchen for Cat's Thermos. He slipped it under his arm and headed for the Ambassador Hotel.

  Cat hesitated as she reached for the phone. It could be any of a number of people calling— someone from the crew looking for company on a Saturday night, her father, or Carl with some last-minute changes. She took a deep breath and reached for the receiver.

  "Hi."

  "Luke?"

  "I'm in the lobby. I stopped by to return your Thermos. If you're busy I could leave it—"

  "Room 701. If you don't mind delivering door to door."

  In the movie business you learn to move fast. Still, Cat must have broken all records for quick changes. By the time Luke knocked on her door, she had slipped on her new red dress, brushed her teeth again, slipped on tiny pearl earrings, dabbed on blush and lipstick, and was fastening the ankle strap on her sandals.

  It took Luke a couple of seconds to catch his breath. Cat had taken it away when she'd opened the door.

  Not only did she look absolutely dazzling—a fiery beauty in red—but there was an added breathless quality about her that made her all the more stunning.

  "You are going out," he said, his voice strained.

  She twirled around in an enchanting pirouette. "Do you like it?"

  Words weren't coming easy. He nodded.

  "Thanks for the Thermos," she said, prying it out from under his arm. "What would I do without it?"

  They both grinned. "A pretty lame excuse," Luke admitted.

  "I'm glad you dug up some reason to come over," she said, her breathlessness no longer having anything to do with racing around to get ready. She stepped aside to let him in.

  Luke shut the door behind him. Cat set the Thermos on the small Queen Anne desk near her bed.

  "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind." Luke's voice pierced the awkward silence. "I tried," he confessed.

  Cat turned around to face him. "I tried, too."

  He moved toward her. Cat could tell he was unsure of himself and unsure of her. She smiled, meeting him halfway. When he was beside her, he returned her smile and slipped his arms around her waist. Cat was amazed at the rush of arousal she felt at his touch. Her lips parted as his mouth met hers. He kissed her lightly, then looked down into her eyes. The taffeta crinkled as his hands slid down her slender body. Cat put her arms around his neck, snuggling closer. The dress crinkled some more. This time there was no hesitation as their lips met, the tentativeness giving way to pure desire.

  Cat sighed as his lips traveled to the sensitive curve between her neck and shoulder. He ran his long fingers through her black hair, whispering her name softly, seductively against her ear. Cat's body tingled; her legs were weak as she pressed more tightly against him. She felt more shivery sensations as his hands ran down her body again.

  One more kiss, she told herself, and then I'll pull myself together. Luke must have read her mind, bending his head to her lips once more, kissing her deeply, a hungry desire rippling through him.

  Cat kept her silent promise. Her face flushed with excitem
ent, her eyes the color of the sky at dusk, she pressed her hands lightly against his chest. This new passion was moving too quickly. She was never reluctant to take risks, but she always meticulously calculated the odds. This time she knew the odds were not in her favor.

  "I think we'd better get out of this room—quick." Luke twisted a wayward strand of her hair between his fingers.

  Even that gesture aroused her. She nodded. "I think you're right. How about showing me the town?"

  He helped her on with a black fox jacket that blended perfectly with the ebony color of her hair. He really didn't want to leave. But he knew they should. He smiled as she fastened the for and slipped her fingers through her hair, freeing the dark, silky strands from beneath her collar.

  Cat gave him a Cheshire grin.

  "Sometimes you're more kitten than Cat," he whispered.

  She slipped her hand in his, gently tugging him toward the door. "Where do psychiatrists go on their evenings off?"

  They munched on cheese dogs (Cat's without the "dog") and sipped beer from large styrofoam cups as the boat made its swing under the Golden Gate Bridge. A foghorn sounded in the mist. Cat finished eating, setting her hall-filled cup on the bench as she leaned against the railing. Luke tossed the remains of his meal in the trash and put his arms around Cat, his cheek pressed against hers. Her skin was cool and satin-smooth, and as the wind whipped her hair every which way, Luke reflected on her natural beauty.

  "So this is where you hang out when you take a break." She grinned, turning toward him. Her lips brushed his jaw.

  "Far from the madding crowd." He kissed her lightly, then turned her to him to kiss her again. Afterward, when she tilted her head back, he smoothed her silken hair, which was damp from the sea mist. He smiled.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked him.

  "About how you looked drenched."

  "Like a drowned rat." She giggled.

  "Like a goddess risen from the dark, mysterious ocean." He skimmed his fingers down the slit of her jacket, touching her warm skin. "Golden tan body and the darkest blue eyes Id ever seen. You took my breath away." He grinned. "Watching you stand on that ledge getting ready to leap to your death didn't help my troubled breathing."